


Nursing

by Viridian5



Series: Hard to Get [3]
Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-22
Updated: 2010-03-22
Packaged: 2017-10-08 05:22:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/73126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viridian5/pseuds/Viridian5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Schuldig has to figure some things out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nursing

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for some for the _Dramatic Image_ Schwarz CDs.
> 
> This story occurs sometime after _Glühen_ and is in the same continuity as "Outfoxed" in the Hard to Get series but can stand alone. This is a piece originally written as background for a roleplay Schuldig account, with some editing and rewriting. Thanks to Rosaleendhu for pre-reading.

This couldn't go well no matter how or when he did it. Schuldig put his mirror sunglasses down over his eyes, unlocked the door to Brad and Farfarello's flat, let himself in, and closed the door behind him.

Smiling, Brad awaited him with a tray. "Perfect timing. You can take this in to him."

Schu took the tray carefully so he wouldn't spill the soup or drink. "Only because I know you'll have nurse duties the rest of the time. It's about time you got to see how the other half lived."

Brad looked at him, his face blank, his mind unreadable, until Schu had to ask, "What?"

"Good work today." Brad went back to the kitchen.

"If you'd foreseen it, I wouldn't have needed to work so hard!" Schuldig yelled, certain he'd be heard. He'd spent years developing his vocal talents so his voice would carry, and at quite an annoying pitch too. At least Brad hadn't bitched about him leaving his post to even the odds against Farfarello.

After Schuldig had moved out into his own flat, Farfarello had moved into what had been Schuldig's room here. The door had been left slightly open, perfect for giving an illusion of privacy for its occupant while making it easy for a tray-carrying caretaker to get in.

Mind open, senses alert, Schuldig opened the door with his foot, ready to use the tray, his body, and telepathy as a weapon. Farfarello might not be as likely to attack him for nothing but amusement anymore, and today had left Farf badly damaged, but Schu would never rely on such things, not when Farf didn't feel pain and didn't care about damaging himself further if he were in a Mood. If Schu ever needed a reminder, he could look at his left hand with that one finger that had never had healed completely straight. Broken fingers were a bitch in so many ways. Pain in one radiated to the others. Of course, Farf had broken two other fingers of his as well at the time.

Brad knew he had the more domesticated version of Farf to wrangle and still he bitched, the whiny bastard.

Farfarello kept much less in the room than Schuldig ever had, of course. Aside from a simple bed, chair, folding table, and a trunk, he mostly seemed to have weapons and books, most of them bought or stolen since he'd lost his family. Well, lost his son then killed his wife in a rage. Currently Farf read a book he had pinned left-handed, one-handed, against the table, his right arm motionless in a sling to better heal his broken collarbone. He had a figure-8 brace on to keep the bones aligned. His ribs and right leg had been broken as well, and various body parts stitched. Other than the brace, bandages, cast, and stitches he only wore boxer shorts.

Fuck, he looked hot. Schuldig even had a bit of thing for somewhat immobilized partners....

Farf smiled and pushed his book aside. "Brought nothing for me, ye cheap bastard?"

Schu smiled back as he put the tray down on the table, his skin tingling with the possibility of attack and sex. But not the irritating crackle and hum of electricity. Farfarello had tapped himself out.

Schuldig said, "I would've brought beer if I didn't think it'd clash with some of the meds they have you on, and you're just not the flowers type. Brad had me bring din-din in. How _do_ you call him now that you no longer have a telepathic in-house nurse?"

With a sour yet wry look, Farfarello picked up a bell. Schu snickered and said, "Oh, how the mighty have fallen. You with a bell, and Brad with a tray."

"I may yet convince him I need help washing too."

"If you do, let me listen in. Four weeks healing time, yeah?"

"Six for regular people. Brad may pony up the price for a healer to get me up faster if the price is lower than how much he'd lose having me out that long." Farfarello's expression darkened. "I hate wounds that actually slow me down."

Schu sat on the trunk. "How about you let this collarbone heal right?"

"Yeah, probably. My other side, the arm still doesn't move as smoothly as it should...." Farf smiled. "Not that the people on the receiving end usually survive to laugh about it." Farf ate some of his soup then stopped. "You were beautiful today. Jumping in through that window feet first, guns blazing, burning out some people's brains.... there are souls in Hell right now wondering who the demon was who sent them there."

Assignments were crazy things. Sometimes you could research the hell out of a thing and have a precog on your side, yet get there and find thrice as many guards as expected. Farf had, and he'd fought his usual hellspawn way but even he got overwhelmed by numbers and firepower and getting knocked down a few flights of stairs.... And still he'd been trying to fight, even with so much of his body wrecked.

Schuldig had been operating on horror and rage. "I felt things go out of balance, so I evened the odds."

"You probably saved my life."

"I evened the odds. Besides, afterwards I had that cute Welsh doc tweezering bits of glass out of my--"

"I love you. Shut your mouth 'cause I'm not done. My wife has been dead for months. It's been months since I acted stupid trying to get you, and I haven't done anything like it since. Showing me that you're stronger than I realized and don't need Crawford anymore made me love you more, not less. The G8 summit with you was the most fun I've had in years, and great company."

It hurt that he would use that word: love. Schu knew there were some people who loved him but few who could outright say it to themselves or him. Nagi loved him but choked upon the word and the realization. Brad... good luck there. Getting that man to even show him a moment's consideration was like pulling teeth.

Schu loved them, as much as someone like him could.

He knew he had a healthy lust thing from many people and took advantage of it when he could. His being available and pretty made people keep coming. Ahem.

He didn't know what the hell he had going on with Farfarello, from either side. Wanting to be loved by someone who could say it to him didn't mean he'd fling himself at the first person who claimed he loved him. Feeling sick and angry at the thought of Farf dying did not equal love. Fixating on an old lover immediately after having been married to a succubus for several years did not equal love, just strong emotion. Schuldig denying him for so long--while occasionally giving in a tiny bit in small makeout sessions--probably made the fixation stronger.

In his own slutty way, Schuldig actually was hard to get, at least if you wanted exclusivity and single-minded devotion from him.

"Have you forgotten that it's uncomfortable for me to even be around you most of the time these days?" Schuldig had to ask.

"That's a small thing to be overcome."

Not small to Schuldig. Annoyed, he stood, and something in the way he did it must have suggested his answer because Farfarello said, "I'm _not_ Crawford."

"You're right. You have a whole library of your own issues. Everything you've just said gave me a bad feeling. Thanks, but no thanks. I'm letting myself out."

Farfarello got up to stand on one leg, just barely balanced but still dangerous, a knife in his good hand from where he'd had it hidden in his sling. Schuldig faced him, his body having already settled into a fighting stance, having a knife of his own, his uninjured body, his speed, his telepathy, and his total willingness to do whatever he had to do to put Farfarello out. Maybe he should have let Farfarello die.

Giving Schuldig a hard look, Farfarello sat again and said, "You may yet change your mind."

Schuldig didn't relax as he left the room, though he smiled and answered, "What I'm doing right now? What I feel like I _have_ to do right now? They're part of why I'm not going for it," as he closed the door.

Brad stood in the living room, gun in hand, and said, "That turned out better than I expected."

Schuldig flipped him an obscene gesture. "How does _that_ turn out?"

Crawford answered, _~ It strikes me that we haven't celebrated your birthday yet, Schu. I've taken a job that will have the two of us killing actual French people in Paris, France. Dining and dancing and perhaps some other diversions will be involved. ~ _

For most of his life Schuldig had listed his birthday as the anniversary of the day he'd started becoming himself and stopped taking any Rosenkreuz bullshit he could avoid, which was... some day in August, usually whatever August day somebody in Schwarz chose to celebrate it. It's not like Eszett gave him access to a calendar in his locked-down state.

Murder in the City of Lights, huh? How romantic. Good choice, Brad. Schuldig grinned and walked out with a bounce in his step.

 

### End


End file.
